


The White Room

by jenefur



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Questioning of Belief, Religious!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenefur/pseuds/jenefur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve was a child, he was taught that when you died, you go to heaven or you go to hell. </p><p>But where do you go when you're frozen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The White Room

The plane hits the ice and Steve is ready.

It happens all at once: a crash, a surge of water and ice, then nothing.

Before impact, Steve closes his eyes and thinks of lost Saturdays and a hand just out of reach. 

-

Steve wakes and thinks he’s in heaven. 

He’s in heaven, except this is not what heaven was supposed to look like. 

There are no clouds, no harps playing. There are no gates, or angels, or saints to greet him. There are no lost loved ones, alive and waiting.

It’s just a white room. And it’s not even a room, not really; there are no walls, or floors, or a roof above him. There are no windows. There doesn’t seem to be an inside or out.

Everything is just white. 

Steve looks around, eyes furrowing slightly before he looks down at himself. 

He’s still in his uniform, boots tied, gloves over his hands. He wiggles his fingers, his toes, moves his legs. 

Everything works. 

There isn’t a floor where he is, nothing to brace himself. He’s not exactly standing, but he’s not falling either. So he tries to move, legs and arms going forward, but there isn’t a _forward_ to go to. He moves, but he doesn’t. 

There is nothing else, nowhere to go, nowhere to move. 

Everything is just white.

There is nothing else, until suddenly there is. 

Steve looks to the left and there is a man standing next to him. He’s far, too far away to touch, but close enough to see. Steve can’t make out any of his features.

What he can tell is that the man looks just as out of place as Steve feels. He’s dressed in dark clothing, has dark shoes, and dark hair. 

He’s a dark spot in a white room.

Steve doesn’t know why he didn’t see him before.

“Hello?” Steve calls to him, voice carrying over the white space. The other man says nothing, just looks forward, staring. 

“Hello!” Steve tries again, louder this time. But the other man doesn’t acknowledge him and continues to stare at the white space around him.

It is then that Steve thinks that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t heaven. Because if heaven isn’t clouds and gates and dead loved ones, then maybe hell isn’t fire and brimstone and pain. 

Maybe, just _maybe_ , hell is being in a white room with no walls with a man who says nothing.

-

When Steve is 14, he comes home from church school angry with God. 

He climbs up the stoop of his apartment complex, breathing heavily from the walk, left eye still bruised from a fight the week before.

When he enters into his apartment, he’s alone. His mother has already left for work, schedule keeping her till the late hours of the night. He’d have to fend for himself for that evening. 

His legs hurt, his chest hurts, everything attached to him hurts.

And Bucky hasn’t talked to him in three days. 

Its because of the fight; its because of _lots_ of fights, but this was one was particularly bad. 

The guy was older, a whole grade level higher, and was at least twice Steve’s size. Steve doesn’t remember why they started fighting. Maybe he said something about Steve and his small stature. Maybe he was picking on a girl. Maybe it was both of those things. But whatever the case, the outcome was the same: knuckles hitting teeth, legs getting scraped, eyes getting darkened by blood. 

Bucky jumps in, because Bucky always jumps in and by the time it was over, Steve can’t see out of his left eye and Bucky’s mouth is bleeding.

Bucky drags him to his house, because he always dragged Steve to his house where it was loud and warm and had food on the table that he could pretend he didn’t want until Mrs. Barnes made him eat.  
Bucky drags him to his house, rinses out his mouth and washes his hands before he shoves Steve down on the couch with a washrag in one hand and cleaning agent in the other. 

He’s mad. Steve can tell by the way he’s avoiding looking at him and how he chews on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to keep himself from yelling.

He’s mad, but when the washrag touches Steve’s face, it’s soft and careful. 

“I don’t know why you keep doing this,” Bucky says, gently wiping the rag over Steve’s face.

It’s not a question aimed at him, not one he’s supposed to answer, but Steve does anyway, “He was saying something about-“

“I’m not talkin’ about him, I’m talkin’ about you.”

Steve winces slightly when the rag touches his face. It’s making his skin burn. 

“You don’t always have to jump in, Bucky. I can handle it on my own.” 

Steve realizes as soon as the words leave his mouth that it’s the wrong thing to say. Bucky breathes hard through his nose, shoulders clamming up like they do when he’s about to deck someone. But the cloth on Steve’s face stays soft.

“What the hell are ya talking about? ‘Course I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Steve hand comes up and takes the washrag from Bucky’s hand. Bucky looks at the rag in Steve’s hand then back up to his eye, before he takes it away from Steve.

“Yes I do.” He says, putting the rag back on his face.

All at once, Steve feels annoyed. He doesn’t need Bucky to get into fights with him. He doesn’t need Bucky to win his battles. And he certainly doesn’t need Bucky to take care of him afterwards.

“No, you don’t,” Steve says, forcefully this time, his irritation seeping into his tone. He reaches up and takes the rag from Bucky’s hand, gripping it in his palm. It feels wet against his hand.

“Why are you actin’ up?” Bucky says, voice louder than before. His dark eyebrows are furrowed on his face, making him look older than he is. 

“I don’t need you to fight fights for me!” Steve says, voice rising to meet Bucky’s, “I can take care of myself!” Steve’s standing now, looking down at Bucky. Even from his raised position, he still feels like he’s on lower ground, as his full height barely makes him edge higher than Bucky sitting down, “I don’t know why you feel like you have to do this!”

“Because you’re-“ Bucky starts and then stops immediately, mouth closing, teeth chewing on his bottom lip.

And suddenly, Steve is furious because he knows what he was going to say, knows what’s at the end of this sentence: you’re small, you’re small, you’re _small_.

“Because you’re my friend.” Bucky says instead, voice coming out soft. If Steve wasn’t mad, he might have noticed the way Bucky’s hand were twisting in his lap, or that he face had lost its edge. He might have noticed Bucky’s change of tone. 

But he’s mad, madder than he’s ever been at Bucky. He’s mad, so he doesn’t. 

He leans down and looks down at Bucky’s face. He can barely see him out of his left eye. 

“Well maybe you should be less friendly, “ Steve says, voice still snappy. It’s the pain that makes him say it, both his swollen eye and bruised ego.

Bucky’s eyes go wide for a moment, a brief hurt expression flashing onto his face. As quickly as its there, it’s gone.

“Fine.” Bucky says, standing up. 

“Fine,” Steve repeats back.

After he gets his stuff, Steve leaves. 

For the next two days, Bucky avoids Steve. He doesn’t meet him at school, doesn’t say hi to him on the street. Nothing.

When they both go to church school that Saturday, Bucky sits on the other side of the room, talking to the other boys in the class. He makes avoiding Steve seem like the simplest thing in the world. He makes living in a world without Steve as his friend, seem easy.

Steve’s not sure how he feels about that.

When Steve walks to the kitchen in his apartment, he sees his mother’s bible sitting on the countertop and feels the mild irritation he had when he came in rise up again. 

The lesson of the class that week had been Purpose. 

“What is your purpose,” Sister Marie had said, “What is God’s purpose for you?” On the blackboard behind her, a bible passage was displayed across the board:

“ For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” –Jeremiah 29:11

Steve’s face still hurts. His arms hurt, his legs hurt, and even simply breathing is difficult. And his best friend is moving on just fine without him. And suddenly Steve is angry.

‘So this is on purpose,’ Steve thinks, eye roaming across the board. It was God’s plan to make him frail, make him sick. It was God’s plan to make him small. And it was God’s plan to make his only friend realize that he’s better off without him.

It’s callous and out of place, but Steve feels that anger anyway, let’s it seep in, because it’s easier than admitting he’s made a mistake. 

After he cleans up and eats what little food he has, Steve goes to bed in his empty apartment.

His face still hurts, his arms and his legs. Everything hurts.

He doesn’t pray that night. 

When he goes to church with his mother the next day, he’s still angry with God, but he goes because his mother will not have him miss a day.

Halfway through the sermon, when his head is bowed in prayer, he feels a weight on his left side, brushing up against him. He lifts his head and sees Bucky sitting next to him, eyes looking forward. He doesn’t do anything for a moment before he feels Bucky’s foot kick the back of his calf. So he kicks back because Steve always pushes back, even when he knows he shouldn’t. 

“So,” Bucky whispers, lowering his head down a bit. The priest is at the front of the church, still midway through his sermon. “Interesting lesson we learned yesterday huh?” 

Steve turns to look at Bucky. He’s still faced forward but when he glances down at Steve, his eyes are bright and open. He doesn’t look mad at all.

“Yeah,” Steve says, voice lowered, “Purpose. Everything happening as part of a plan. What do you think the purpose of this black eye is?”

Bucky snorts quietly next to him, hand coming up to cover his mouth. Even though he can’t see it, Steve can tell he’s hiding a smile.  


“Oh I don’t know,” Bucky says, smile edging into his voice, “Maybe God thought, ‘Well he already has everything else wrong with him. Why don’t we fuck up his eyesight too?’ “ 

Steve laughs, laughs loudly, and even though he gets a cuff by his mother next to him and a stern look from the people seated in front of him, he smiles because it’s the best he’s felt in a couple days. 

Bucky is smiling next to him, eyes shinning in the church light. He's quiet beside Steve for a moment, before his leg bumps into Steve’s.

“I’m sorry,” he says and Steve can tell he’s not talking about making him laugh.

And in that moment, Steve can’t help but think how much he missed him, how much he _needs_ him, in a way he wasn’t aware of before. And then he thinks that maybe this was God’s plan, maybe _this_ was it, maybe Steve needed to be away from Bucky to show how much he needed him. It feels right when Steve thinks about it that way.

It feels good.

The sermon is still going on, the priest upfront making announcements for the congregation. He should be paying attention.

Instead, his leg pushes against the side of Bucky’s, nudging him back.

“I’m sorry too.”

That night, before bed, Steve prays, prays _hard_ and thinks that if this is part of God’s plan for him, then everything else he can deal with. 

 

-

Steve’s not quite sure how much time has passed. 

There aren’t any changes in this white room, nothing to indicate a passing day. 

He doesn’t feel hungry. He doesn’t feel thirsty, or tired, or weak. He’s just here, in this white room, waiting for something to happen.

Sometimes, the other man goes away.

The first time is happens, it shocks Steve because he can _feel_ him leaving the room, feel a pulse of something run through him as the man slowly vanishes out of sight.  
He’s only gone for a second, a blink, and then he’s back, still silent, face still looking forward at nothing.

The second time he leaves, he’s gone for a while. Steve’s not quite sure how long. It could be minutes. It could be days. It could be years. 

It is then that Steve thinks that maybe this isn’t heaven or hell. Maybe, just _maybe_ , this is something else, a limbo of sorts, a place where he was told that unbaptized babies go. Only there are no children here, just Steve and the man and the white, white room. 

So Steve thinks maybe this is a place you go before it’s decided where you go, a place where you’re held as your sins are counted, your goods weighed against your bads. 

This is something Steve can understand, because he certainly tried to be good, tried his whole life, but he has done evil in the world. He’s been angry; he’s had bad thoughts. 

He’s killed people before. 

As he thinks of this, his thoughts go to the currently missing man, the man who stands still and says nothing.

If Steve is here for his sins, he can only wonder what sins this man has made to get him in this white room with him. 

The man comes back and it’s like waves rushing over Steve, an energy that spreads through his whole being.

“Where do you go?” Steve calls out to him, because though he hasn’t answered Steve once this whole time, he’s never been the type to back down from a challenge.

The man is quiet for a long time (it could be minutes, it could be days, it could be years) before he says something quietly into the space of the white room.

“ I don’t know.” 

His voice is quiet in the space, and though Steve hears him, his voice still sounds fuzzy.

“I don’t know.”

\- 

They’re at war, on a mountaintop in some European country, and it’s snowing.

Steve’s big in a way he'd never been before, larger then most of the men he’s with. He’s bigger than the soldiers below him and the general above.

He’s bigger than Bucky.

They’re at war, on a mountaintop in some European country, and everyone else in his platoon is asleep, trying to brace themselves against the cold. 

Steve’s awake, because he doesn’t need much sleep, not since the serum made him big, and he can go two or three or four days without any problem at all. And because Steve’s awake, Bucky’s awake too, because its Bucky and he never lets Steve do anything on his own.

It’s quiet on this mountaintop in some European country, snow falling slowly around them. 

The fire pit sitting in front of them is lowly lit, with just enough wood in it for Steve to catch the outlines of Bucky’s face. 

Bucky’s smoking now, something he’d never do around Steve before all of this, in the off chance that it made Steve’s already fragile health worse.

He can do it now that Steve’s big.

He can do whatever he wants.

It’s quiet for a moment and Steve sits back against a tree trunk, eyes closed, listening to Bucky smoke his cigarette, a slow rhythm of air, inhaling in and blowing out. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, taking another puff of his smoke. He’s almost done with it, the stub of cigarette barely graspable in his fingers. Steve doesn’t ever remember Bucky smoking this much.

“Do you still pray?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, because it’s true, he does, almost every night he’s been out here. He prayed and he got into the army. He prayed and got the serum. He prayed and found Bucky again.

“Hm.” Bucky says flicking his cigarette away, leaning against his own tree. Steve looks at him and can’t help but be amazed by how _small_ Bucky looks against the tree. 

It’s not something Steve thinks he’ll ever get used to.

“When I was on that table,” Bucky says, adjusting himself against the tree, eyes closing slowly, “I used to pray a lot.”

Steve is quiet, looks at Bucky softly, because Bucky’s never talked about this, not to the doctor’s at base and not to him when they were alone. They’d never talked about this before. 

“They strapped me on that table and I prayed, “ Bucky says, body closing in on itself slightly, “ I prayed to God, prayed to the army, prayed to anybody, but nobody came.”

Bucky is quiet then, his hands twitching for a cigarette that’s not there. He’s still curled into himself, knees coming up to his chest, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s gazing forward, eyes staring blankly at nothing. 

“Nobody came, Steve. I prayed and nobody came, ” Bucky says, voice barely a whisper on the snowy mountaintop, “Nobody except you.”

Bucky looks at him then, and even though he hasn’t been sleeping, his eyes look so bright against the firelight and white snow. 

Maybe if Steve wasn’t worried, he would have noticed the way Bucky’s hands were twisting in his lap, how his face went so soft. He might have noticed Bucky’s change of tone.

But Steve’s worried, more worried than he’s ever been for Bucky. He’s worried, so he doesn’t. 

Bucky’s face is gaunt, hollow in a way that it wasn’t before. His legs are curled into his body and snowflakes are slowly building up on his shoulders.

Steve can’t get over how small he looks.

“Bucky,” Steve says moving away from his tree, closer to him. He reaches out and puts his hand on Bucky’s knee, holding him firmly. Bucky hand comes up and latches on to it, latches on _hard_ , like his whole body is starving for attention and Steve’s the only one who can feed it. “Buck, you need to go to sleep.”

Bucky smiles then, a small laugh escaping him. He hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Ok,” Bucky says, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ok,” Steve repeats back.

When Bucky lies down on his sack, Steve looks out over the mountaintop of some European country, and watches as the snow falls gently down around them.  
He turns and looks at Bucky and sees his gaunt face, his furrowed eyebrows, and the way he’s curled into himself.

Steve looks at Bucky that night and prays and prays and prays.

-

Steve feels cold. 

It’s something that he didn’t notice when he first arrived to this white room, but its there.

It starts in his toes and his fingers, before slowly building up through the rest of his body.

It doesn’t bother him; it doesn’t hurt. It’s just something that’s _there_ , a coldness that he can’t explain. 

“Do you feel cold?” Steve asks the man across from him. The other man hasn’t said much to him, not since that first time, but Steve asks anyway.

The other man doesn’t answer for a while (It could be minutes. It could be days. It could be years.)

Then, finally, Steve hears him.

“I always feel cold,” the man says, voice carrying over in the white room.

Then he’s gone.

-

Watching Bucky fall is hard, _devastatingly hard_ , hard in a way he’s never experienced.

But if watching him fall is hard, telling the others he couldn’t catch him is undoable. 

So when he’s back on the train and Gabe asks him where Bucky is, he can’t say it. The words stick in the inside of his mouth, ‘ _Bucky fell, Bucky fell, I couldn’t catch him, Bucky fell_ ’ and he lets Gabe read his face to find his answer. 

He can tell by Gabe’s expression that he gets it. He let’s Gabe be the one to tell the others. 

When they get back to camp, everyone is quiet around the makeshift fire pit they’ve built for themselves, the ambers slowly flickering in the air.  
It’s still snowing. It hasn’t stopped snowing since they got there.

Dum Dum clears his throat and looks at him briefly before pulling out a flask from the inside of his breast pocket. He proceeds to say some words about Bucky, about how he was a good man, a brave soldier.

It’s a makeshift memorial, a quiet funeral around that bare mountaintop.  
There’s no body to bury. 

Dum Dum passes the flask, and Gabe pulls a bible out his bag and reads a short passage:

“ For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the Earth. And after my skin has thus been destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God’- Job 19:25”

The flask passes to Steve, but he doesn’t take it. 

He walks away from the group, just to the outskirts of their camping ground. 

It’s still snowing.

It hasn’t stopped snowing since they got there.

Steve looks up at the sky and is 14 again, 14 and angry with God.

God has a plan, has a plan for all of us, that’s what he was taught, that's what he _believes_.

So why would God make him big, bigger than he ever was, make him strong and fit and powerful, but not able to save his friend?

Why was this part of God’s plan?

Steve looks up at the sky and thinks that if this was part of the plan, then maybe he doesn’t want a part of this anymore. 

When he wakes up the next morning at camp, his face is covered in dirt and snow and tears. And whatever part of him still believes in God, thanks the Lord that the others don’t say anything.

-

When the man returns, back from where ever he goes, Steve knows something’s not right.

He’s breathing hard, air leaving him too fast. His body is hunched over like he’s going to fall over at any second. 

“Hey,” Steve calls out, turning towards him. He tries to move forward, forward towards the man, but he can’t move, can’t get any closer. There isn’t any forward to go to. 

The man is still breathing hard, still breathing loud when he turns to look at Steve. 

He’s still too far for Steve to make out.

“Steve?” The man calls out and Steve feels his mouth go dry.

“What ? You know who I –“ Steve starts to say when he’s interrupted by the other man. 

He’s laughing, laughing hysterically, clutching his chest with hands. He’s laughing in a way that seems so forced, like he's laughing because he doesn’t know what else to do.

He’s laughing like it _hurts_.

“Steve… Oh God no.” The man says giggling. “They got you too…no no, they got you too.”

Steve can’t quite make out his face and his voice still sounds fuzzy. “Excuse me,” he tries again, making his voice louder than the frantic laughter, “Who are –“

“They took me home Steve,” The man interrupts, the laughter still in his voice. He’s not looking at Steve anymore. He’s faced forward, still hunched over, staring at the white space in front of him, “They made me go home, had me walk around. Everything looks different, Steve, it’s all gone. Everything’s _different_ , Steve, it’s all gone. And now you’re here too, Steve, oh God.” 

The mans begins laughing again, curling into himself more and Steve doesn’t know what to say.

“They showed me video, you know? Recordings of what you did. And I didn’t believe it, you know it had to be a trick, but its so _you_ , of course you would do that, of course you would do something so _stupid_.”

The man is on his knees now, hunched over completely, hands fisted against his knees. He’s still breathing too hard, the rush of air sounding harsh again the silence of this white room.

“They’re making me forget, Steve,” the man says in a quieter tone, soft in a way he wasn’t before.

“Who’s making you?” Steve says suddenly anxious, because he doesn’t know how long he’s been here, but this man knows something. And something is better than this blank white room, “What’s your name?”

The man breathes in and it’s different than before, shaking and unsteady. 

“Steve.” He says, and it comes out watery and broken. 

Then he’s gone. 

When he comes back (Steve doesn’t know how long he’s been gone; minutes, days, years), the man stands straight, head forward, glancing at that whiteness in front of him.

“Hey,” Steve calls out, voice sounding through the white room. The other man does nothing, continues staring forward at the blankness around him.

“Do you know who I am?” Steve says. The man still does nothing.

“Do you know who you are?” Steve tries again. The other man is still so far away. 

It’s quiet for a moment, before the man moves slightly. He doesn’t turn completely, but, even at a distance, Steve can tell he’s looking at him.

“I don’t know,” The man says, voice quiet and still.

“I don’t know.”

Then he’s gone again.

-

When Steve is 14, he believes in God, believes that his frail body will serve a purpose to the world. When he’s in the army and large, he’s the “Star-Spangled Man” with a plan that God has given him and he will try his best to complete it.

But when there are bodies at his feet and blood on his hands, he doesn’t know if this is what God had intended for him.

And when Bucky’s gone and there’s oncoming ice in his sights, he finds that he doesn’t care either way.

-  
The man comes back and suddenly Steve is hot.

It’s not a comfortable feeling, not the way the cold was.

It’s hot, it’s too hot, it _burns_ , and Steve can feel it in his bones. 

His skin is on fire, his clothes are on fire, and he can’t move out of his suit. 

His arms won’t move. He can’t feel his legs. His mouth won’t open. Everything is just hot all at once, so Steve shuts his eyes, grips them tight. 

He doesn’t know if he can handle this. 

As his skin burns and the heat goes into his chest, he feels something press on top of him, something light, but solid hovering over him.

It doesn’t help the burning feeling, but it doesn’t increase the pain either.

“You’re waking up,” the figure says and the voice sounds achingly familiar. So Steve opens his eyes.

He opens his eyes and Steve knows where he is now, knows where’s he’s been this whole time. It’s not question, or a thought, or a _maybe_ , it’s a yes, a hard, solid yes, that he’s in hell. 

His cards been pulled, his judgment made. He’s being burned alive and the one man he couldn’t save is here to watch him.

“Steve,” Bucky says, voice soft. His eyes are shinning, bright against a dark background. His face looks so soft.

He looks the same, hair a bit longer, face a bit older. Through the pain and burning, Steve looks at him and takes in his dark hair, his dark clothes.

He’s a dark spot in a white room.

Bucky leans down, his left hand touching Steve. It feels different, not quite like a hand, but its cold, cold where all of him feels hot. 

“You’re waking up, Steve.” Bucky says, and Steve doesn’t know what this means, only knows that his arms hurt, his legs hurt, everything hurts and there’s Bucky, with him through it all.

Bucky leans down, and his breath is on Steve’s ear, “Come find me when you wake up.”

Steve feels the burning stop. There’s a jolt and flash of light.

And then Bucky’s gone. 

-

There are cold sheets against his skin, something soft against his head.

A baseball game sounds in his ear.

Steve opens his eyes and breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, Ive been watching a lot of shows about consciousness and where the mind goes when you die, so this is primarily a reaction to that haha
> 
> If you got all the way through it thanks so much! 
> 
> This is un-betaed so if you see any issues please let me know.
> 
> You can come talk to me here if you'd like: [x](http://sokovia.tumblr.com/)


End file.
